Commitment
by Uozumi
Summary: On the day of her death, he finds himself in a bar telling a stranger about their life together.


**Title** _Commitment_  
**Author** Uozumi  
**Genre** Death/Drama/Future/Romance  
**Disclaimer** This is an act of fandom. I do not claim ownership over these characters. I am not making any profit from this endeavour.  
**Rating** PG-13  
**Summary** On the day of her death, he finds himself in a bar telling a stranger about their life together.  
**Author's Note** This is told in a series of flashbacks, so when you see a section break, it's the beginning of a flashback or a return to the present-time scene.  
**Dedication** This is dedicated to Mel because if I had never met her, this never would have happened.

**_Commitment_**

He sat there, shoulders hunched and his long fingers gripped the tumbler in front of him. His blue eyes stared off as he swirled the glass absentmindedly, the cubes clinking as they hit the edges. Those who knew him from school would barely recognize him. He was taller and thinner and the war had worn his rosy cheeks to a dull pale. His posture was slouched and the only distinguishable feature about him was his hair that was cut in the same way it was back during his Hogwarts days. He was well into his twenties and now sat in a bar just outside of Diagon Alley, his blue eyes uncharacteristically dark and distant.

He felt someone sit down in the stool beside him, but he didn't look at the person. He simply swirled his tumbler, the ice making a rhythmic, slow clinking noise. The bartender watched as his customer stared off, tumbler filling with melted ice. He didn't know exactly what to say just yet. Part of the job was to talk to such customers, hopefully talk them out of any destructive behaviour or at least give a friendly ear. He was "part drink mixer and part emotional fixer," as his teacher described the job. He walked over, deciding to give the forlorn man his time in a few minutes if he was still in his catatonic state after the bartender took the order of the new comer.

"What will you have?"

"Firewhiskey."

The bartender moved away and the customer glanced at the daydreamer. "Will you stop that clinking?"

The clinker blinked and then set his glass down, looking at the bar as he did so. "Sorry…"

The man beside him accepted his firewhiskey and frowned slightly. He wore dark clothing that off-set his naturally pale skin that was tanned ever so slightly, usually in a way that only Quidditch players tanned, though it was too faint to make him a serious player. "She left you, didn't she?" the man remarked, downing his drink.

The brown haired man shook his head. "No…" Then he paused and then nodded numbly. "Yeah."

The man in black clothing narrowed his eyes. "That's not an answer."

There was a pause and then a soft, "She died today," slipped out before the blue eyed man pushed his glass across the counter, receiving a refill.

"That's your second," the bartender told him.

"I know," the blue eyed man replied in his quiet voice. He then downed it and spoke hollowly, gripping the tumbler, staring into it as though it could save him from what he admitted.

The man beside him froze for a moment and then he called for a second tumbler full.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The bartender looked at his miserable charge. "You know, get it out of your system." He found this method tended to keep a person from drinking themselves under the table and also made them feel somewhat better even if they seemed worse off at the beginning of such a conversation.

"I don't know," the voice was hollow and his pale fingers gripped the tumbler tighter. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything you want," the bartender answered. "Was she pretty?"

"Kind of," the man murmured. "She wasn't the prettiest girl in school, but she was pretty in her own way."

"A dog, eh?" the bartender grinned, displaying one gold molar.

"That's what a lot of people thought," the man murmured. "She had this nose…and then she had this air that just…" he searched for the words and then finished, "just kind of was there to make you feel like you were insignificant."

The bartender raised an eyebrow and the fair-weather Quidditch player spoke, "Then why did you get involved?"

"Because I didn't feel insignificant," the blue-eyed man replied quietly. "It was nice not to…" his voice trailed and a very tiny but brief smile graced his worn features before evaporating as though it never existed. He ran a finger along an indent of the tumbler, speaking quietly, "I never married her. She didn't want the commitment and just staying together, that showed more than a ring…or something…" He stared off and then closed his eyes. "I'm babbling now."

"No one said you couldn't," the bartender remarked. "Get it out of your system."

The man nodded, pushing the tumbler over to the bartender.

"This is three and I'm not giving you another until a half hour after you finish this," he explained as he filled the tumbler. "Policies, you know."

The brown-haired man nodded and then downed the drink. "I loved her, you know. I was scared throughout the war about this and now that there's peace…" his voice trailed.

"What was her name?" the other customer asked as he accepted his third tumbler, his voice just above a whisper.

"Pansy," came the reply. "Her name was Pansy, just like the flower."

"Parkinson?" the question jumped out before the other customer could think.

"Yes." The pale man nodded. "Pansy Parkinson."

"How did you meet her?" the bartender asked after returning from serving a Coke with rum to a customer a few stools away.

There was a pause and then the pale man spoke.

Trevor!

Panicking, I hurriedly get up from my seat, looking around. He was just here! Wasn't he?

"What's wrong?" an Irish boy – I think his name is Seamus – asks.

"I think I've lost Trevor."

"Trevor?" a girl asks from where she's sitting, putting her book down.

"My toad," I explain as I look under the seats in our cabin on the Hogwarts Express. We haven't been into our ride but two hours and already I've lost something. "He was just here – "

"Want me to help you look for him?" She stands up and looks around the cabin, chewing on her lip in thought. I didn't even have to say yes. "I'll check the cabins in that direction," she points in the direction of the seats the Irish boy is sitting in, "and you go look in that direction," she finishes, pointing in the direction of the seats I had been sitting in.

I nod and then we exit the cabin, going off in separate directions.

I check three cabins with no success. I even got a few sniggers from some of the older students. I guess I look rather pathetic, but Trevor is my toad and I can't believe I've lost him! Coming across an open door, I look in, instantly greeted with a, "What do you want?"

I look into the car and at a girl with dark hair and a rather pug-like nose. "I – I'm looking for my toad," I tell her. "Have you seen him?"

Her eyes look around at the girls in their car as though silently asking them if they've seen him. Finally, she looks back at me. "We haven't seen him."

I nod and then go to the next cabin looking for my renegade pet.

"So you met on the train," the bartender murmured. "I met my first love on my first train ride too. Only, it wasn't a person." He grinned again, his gold molar showing, "It was Quidditch. Never heard of it before, and I instantly liked it when I did."

"She wasn't my first love," the sorrowful man corrected in his quiet manner. "My first love was the girl who went to look for Trevor."

"Figures," the customer beside him commented. "You seem the type."

"Now, now," the bartender put his hands up, "let's not get ugly. He's having a rough time, you know."

A slurred "Sorry" came in reply and then the three fell silent.

"How'd you get together?" the customer asked after a bit. He pushed his glass forward and the bartender pushed it back towards him, citing that he had twenty more minutes until he could have another drink.

The brown haired man took his third firewhiskey and paused a bit before replying.

I did it. I don't know if it's due to my new wand – _my_ wand – or if it's just something everyone does at my age, but I've done it. I've gotten myself kicked out of the house.

I don't know when I'll get to go back. Gran looked so mad, I guess I should feel lucky I remembered my wallet, but I don't have my wand. I can't believe I don't have it. It's my wand, not my father's wand and I've left it at home. Not that I really had a choice. I need to watch my mouth.

"What are you staring at?"

I blink and realize that I've been staring off down Knockturn Alley while I've been thinking. I don't know how long I've been doing this, but I guess it was too long. Looking down, I see Pansy Parkinson studying me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrow ever further and her nostrils flare slightly. Her cheeks are pink with the July heat and her arms around crossed. "You don't stand gazing off down Knockturn Alley and say you're looking at nothing," she remarks.

"Why are you standing in it?" I ask. I know I sound a bit perturbed, but it's hot and I just had a shouting match with Gran. I don't need hassling right now. 

She stiffens slightly and I wonder if she's even going to answer. "My parents have business. What's your excuse? Lost" Her lips curl into a holier-than-thou smirk.

"It's hot." It's the only excuse I can think of. Today is one of the hottest days of the year and I just can't think straight. That and I didn't have breakfast because I got thrown out of the house.

"Hot," she snorts the word out and then waves a hand through the air as though dismissing it as a rather pathetic excuse. "Did you think that it wasn't going to be just the same down there?" She gestures down the alley.

I narrow my eyes. I'm still angry with Gran and I try not to let it come to the surface. I'll be damned if I let someone from school find out about this side of me. I want to stay "Neville the Bumble" in their eyes. It will make everything easier and less likely they'd suspect anything of me. I'm not a Death Eater and would never be one, but if I were to change drastically, they might think that's what's happening.

"No," I growl slightly, "I was only looking down it. Is that a problem?"

She blinks at me and then growls right back, "Should it be? Don't tell me you're denouncing Dumbledore." She made a rather haughty noise.

"That's none of your business," I state before thinking. It really isn't, although I think that made it sound like I'm changing sides or something. I need to shut up, I need to bumble or something. Yet, for once, I don't.

She eyes me and then looks away, fanning herself. "It's so hot," she wrinkles her nose slightly. It isn't so bad when it's wrinkled, but I doubt she would want to go around with her nose wrinkled for the rest of her life. She's probably the vain sort.

"I know," I murmur without thinking. "It has to be in the thirties."

We stand there in silence and then I shift my weight. "We probably should go inside somewhere," I look around as I speak.

"What…?"

"I said," I pause and then blank almost. I can't believe I said we. I was supposed to say I. I can't just amend it. I did ask. "I said, 'We probably should go inside somewhere.'"

She scrutinises me and then nods cautiously. "Where?" The question is sharp, I wonder if she's testing me.

"I don't know…" I look around for the first building to catch my eye. "Fortescue's?"

She continues to eye me and then she nods. "Okay."

Entering the parlour, I look around. I half-expect the customers to look over at us and stare. It's not everyday a Slytherin and a Gryffindor walk into such a place. No one pays us any mind and I don't know anyone in the room. I see a pair of witches eye us before giggling. I can only begin to imagine what they're saying.

We approach Fortescue at the counter and I look over at her while I pull out my wallet. I'm starving and I can't believe it's been five hours since I left the house. I need breakfast even if it's ice cream. "What do you want?"

She stops from where she was getting into her purse. "What?"

"I asked you to come over here, I might as well pay for it," I murmur, not looking at her. I wish I could think before speaking today. That would really be nice. First I get kicked out of my house and the next thing I know I'm buying Pansy Parkinson ice cream. What happens next? I become best friends with Umbridge?

No, I will not jinx myself.

"I'll have vanilla," she pauses, "in a bowl."

"How many scoops?" Fortescue smiles at us. I think he thinks we're on a date – hell, I think everyone in this room thinks we're on a date.

I can't really blame them though.

"Three," she states. "What I always get."

He smiles and nods. "I was only checking." Then he looks at me, "And what will you have, Neville?"

"Strawberry," I pause, "in a bowl; two scoops."

He nods and then indicates the vacant tables. "Go and sit down, I'll have Marietta bring it to you." Then a gangly witch just a bit older than us with thick and curly dark hair disappears through a door where they keep the ice cream.

All of the booths are located where you can see out the window so we can't really hide. Pansy slides into one of the open booths and I follow. We're close to the window, but that's as far from it as we can get. A bit after we sit down, Marietta brings us our ice cream, winking before going to sit and wait for another customer to order.

"They all think we're dating," Pansy mutters darkly as she picks up her spoon.

I poke around my ice cream eating the strawberries first. "Can you really blame them?"

She narrows her eyes and then tucks into her ice cream. "What are you doing?"

I look up, swallowing. "Eating ice cream, what are you doing?" It's somewhat sarcastic, I know, but I might as well keep it up. If I haven't hidden this away, why start now?

"I mean," she points her spoon at my bowl, "you're eating all the strawberries. That's rather gross." She wrinkles her nose again.

"Habit," I write it off.

She glowers slightly and then returns to her ice cream. "Why are you doing this anyway?"

"I don't know." I start in on the regular ice cream part now that it's melted slightly and all the strawberries are gone.

She eyes me and continues eating.

"That and I was going to get breakfast anyway," I add absentmindedly.

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah, breakfast."

She snorts slightly and then leans back in her seat, having finished. "I never thought you were the ice cream for breakfast type."

I raise my eyebrow at the tone. It's not as Slytherinish as I would think it would be. I stare and then look away. "I'm not. I got kicked out of the house." I don't know why I'm telling her this. I guess I'm just not thinking today.

"Thrown out?" She stares. I guess that Neville the Bumble still precedes me. That's good I guess.

"Yeah," I finish off my ice cream and lean back in my seat, Marietta taking our bowls away quietly, taking the money I set out as a tip. "I got into a shouting match with Gran and the next thing I knew, I was outside the front door and she told me that she'd tell me when I could come back."

Her eyes darken for a moment and then she nods. "That's too bad."

I force myself not to stare. Isn't she known school-wide as "that Slytherin bitch?" I look away and out the window. "It could be worse."

I can see her nod out of the corner of my eye before she stands. "I should get going. Mum and Dad might be waiting." She snatches up her purse in a hurry and is about a metre away when I stand.

"Can I owl you?"

She pauses at the door. She looks just as shocked as I am, or at least, she looks just as shocked as a Slytherin can I guess. Her face morphs into its normal demeanour. "Sure." Then she leaves hurriedly back towards Knockturn Alley.

"So you started owling each other?" the bartender asked, raising an eyebrow. This was a rather original story.

"Yeah," his charge nodded. He didn't push his tumbler forward even though he could have another.

"So you simply got together over that?" the other customer snorted. "Figures."

The bartender gave him a warning look. The customer quieted.

"Then what happened? Your said it was July right before your sixth-year, right?"

"That's right." The man ran a hand through his brown hair. "We started owling a few weeks later – I couldn't get up the nerve right away."

I couldn't get out of the house fast enough. I promised to meet Pansy and I was going to be late. Hurrying, I almost trip over my feet. Of course when I don't want to be Neville the Bumble, I am.

Finally I reach our meeting place. No one knows where I am or what I'm doing. That was part of what kept me from getting out of the house on time, Gran cornered me on it. I told her something, I don't think she believed me.

Finally, I stop. It's a muggle park between where we live. The first few times we came here, she would wrinkle her nose, but last time she wasn't so adverse to it. It's the best hiding place we have.

"You're late."

I look up as I try not to trip over the root and then run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I have. "Gran wanted to know where I was going."

She nods. I come over and stand by her on the bridge, looking down at the pond. She follows my gaze and we grow silent. Finally she speaks, "When are you going to Diagon Alley?"

"Sometime next week." I watch a leaf fall into the pond. "When are you going?"

"Tomorrow." She watches it too. "I just wanted to know since we're keeping it a secret."

I nod, flexing my fingers on the railing. I'm nervous. I shouldn't be nervous.

She shifts her weight. "How are we going to hide this at school?"

"Just be normal I suppose." I look over at her. "I'm sure we can do it. No one will probably think anything of it. Out of all the Gryffindors and Slytherins, no one would be watching us."

"But, what if they see?" she persists. She does have a reputation to keep up. I mean it's one thing to be a Bumble, but another thing to be one of the meanest people in school.

"We can meet places. You're a prefect; you have rounds at odd hours." I can't believe I'm suggesting this. My brain must leave when I'm around her.

She stares off for a moment and then sighs. "We'll see."

I nod. I've thought about it, what will happen when we go back to school. It's going to be odd, I know. I shift my weight. I'm still nervous. I shouldn't be nervous. It's August, we're dating, and we even decided that we're a couple. I shouldn't be nervous.

She glances at me suspiciously. "Neville, what – "

Then I kiss her. I just did it without thinking. I pull away, flustered and I think I stopped breathing.

She stares and then a smirk appears, it's not a mean smirk, but a smirk. I don't know how to take it. She then speaks. "I've been waiting for you to do that for a while."

I stare. I thought that everything could fall to pieces after this, but she's been _waiting_ for this?

I stare. I don't know what to think, and then I kiss her again.

"How disgustingly cute," the customer in the black clothes commented, pushing his tumbler towards the bartender.

"So, did you keep it a secret?" the bartender asked as he filled the tumbler.

The brown haired man was playing with his tumbler again, making the ice clink. "Yeah, we did, for a time at least."

"Neville, you can't be serious."

"I am."

"But – But, it's _Parkinson_," Ron makes a disgusted face. I can't believe I told him. He cornered me though.

"It could be worse," I offer.

"How?"

"It could be Malfoy."

I watch him cringe. "You really didn't have to say that." Falling silent, he looks at his shoes. We're in our dormitory and he just now came to confront me about some "weird rumour" he just heard. I had to tell him it was true, that and I don't like lying.

"I know." I look around the room. He's taking it better than I thought he would, I was expecting him to scream or rant for a long time. "So how many people know?"

"I think most of our house," Ron murmured. "I don't think it's the whole school yet."

I groan. I guess that it was inevitable that I would have told them, but I didn't want to be forced into it.

We stay silent for a bit and then he comments, "You know Malfoy's going to kill you."

"So this Malfoy – "

"He was Pansy's best friend," the man replied before the bartender could finish his question. He slowly clinked the ice in his glass. The man on his left was silent and still. "Towards the end of the year, they weren't anymore."

I stare out at the lake. I need to be alone for a bit. I just got an owl concerning my parents. I don't know what to think; except for at least they aren't dead.

I pick up a stone and go to skip it and watch as it immediately hits the water and disappear. I guess I'm always a bumble.

"Oh…ah…"

I turn at the voice and drop the stone I just picked up. Looking over my shoulder, I blink. "Pansy…"

She turns away. "I was…I came out here to be alone…"

"What happened?" I ask and then curse under my breath. I need to start thinking when I talk to her.

"I just…" She shook her head. "You'll find out in the morning, I'm sure."

"So I did find out that she and Malfoy had a nasty fight and he never did speak to her ever again that I know of," the man spoke quietly.

"Did you ever fight with her?" the man to his left asked.

"Yeah, we fought a lot," he paused. "Well, not 'a lot' but enough. We broke up five times before we finally stayed together."

"That's impressive," the bartender filled the tumbler when the man pushed it towards him. "I take it when you fought, it was ugly."

"Ugly isn't the word," the blue eyed man murmured darkly. "Our worst one was our first one, a bit before Malfoy stopped talking to her."

"Did you not think I was going to hear?" Pansy asks darkly. We're standing just inside the area that leads out to the courtyard. I helped with a prank, and she just found out.

"I knew you would, that's why I told you – "

"I _defended_ you!" she screeches.

"I didn't ask you to defend me!" I shout right back.

"You didn't have to!" she rises up and puts her pug-nose in the air as she retorts, "You're – You're just a bumble! Neville the Bumble!"

"Yeah?" I challenge. "It's better than being a slag!"

Her face gets redder – if that's possible. She knows I have a point. I try to cover up my disdain for what she does, what most of Slytherin does, but I can't help if it's coming out now.

"You go around with everyone, even though you have me. You are always all over Malfoy, and it sickens me!"

"If it 'sickens' you, why didn't you say something?" she challenges.

I take a step forward and rise to my full height. I'm a good head and shoulders taller than she is. "Because I didn't want this to happen!"

"Well, it's happening!" she shouts as she takes a few steps back. I keep striding forward watching as she backs up. Then I stop and she seems to tremble slightly as though I'm going to hit her. I'm not the type to hit women.

"And," she pauses and then shouts, looking as though she's prepared to run, "I never loved you! I've led you along all this time. Did you really think I'd be that nice," she sneers, "and to Gryffindor rubbish?" She spats. "I can't believe you fell for it. Neville the Bumble, that's what you are and always will be!"

I freeze and then something wells up in me. In a surge, I lash out at her bag that's on the floor from where she dropped it and kick it into one of the groups of onlookers, hearing a few shrieks of surprise. I turn to her and growl as I pass. "Then you don't have to worry. I was only using you for revenge. I wanted to rebel against the system, and you were only a pawn in that rebellion." Then I stalk off, unsure of where I should go next.

"Ouch," the bartender winces. "I'm surprised you could get back together after that."

"Malfoy sort of brought us together again," the man was playing with his tumbler again. "When he stopped talking to Pansy, he really shook her and after a month or so, we got back together again." He reddened slightly; he didn't need to elaborate on what happened when they did.

The man beside him slid his tumbler over to the bartender forcibly, only to be told he had to wait fifteen more minutes.

"We had other fights," the man's voice lowered, "although only one of our break-ups wasn't due to fighting. Or at least, in how the others had been."

The bartender waited. The man to the left of him checked his watch impatiently, playing with his tumbler as though that would make the time pass faster.

"She was getting the Dark Mark and thought we should break up for my sake."

"Neville, listen to me," Pansy speaks quietly. We're standing on our bridge again at an hour that no one comes to the park. "Something's about to happen…" her voice trails, "something bad."

I look over at her. She's leaning on the bridge, her hands gripping the railing, arms straight. She's looking down at the pond as though she can't believe what she's about to say. I don't know whether to probe her or not. It's the summer just before our seventh-year.

"What's going to happen?" I ask quietly. My mouth is suddenly dry, dread coming over me.

She flexes her fingers and then stands up, letting go of the railing. She straightens somewhat, fixing her gaze on me. "We need to break up."

I stare. I don't know what to think. I offer a rather dumb sounding, "What…?" Maybe I heard her wrong, but I know I didn't.

"We need to break up." She looks away, her eyes averting from me, hand hooking a long strand of her hair behind her ear. Then her eyes returned to me. "You know I can't escape this."

I study her, then look away. "We can work thro – "

"No, we can't." She shakes her head, closing her eyes. "I'm not dragging you into this." She turns away. "I'm leaving now. Don't follow me, and don't beg me. I need to leave you." Then she's gone before I can really register it.

I stare off a bit and then turn away. I don't know what to think.

"That would make sense," the bartender spoke understandingly. "Her taking the Mark, I mean. You said she was in Slytherin."

"Yeah." The forlorn man nodded.

"How'd you get back together?" the other customer asked, the question dying as though he wanted to state something.

The man ran a finger along an indent of the tumbler. Their next drinks were coming in fourty-five minute intervals now. "It just happened. It was during Christmas holidays. I ran into her on my way to St. Muglo's."

I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets. It always seems to snow for Christmas holidays, I don't know if it's magic or simply the natural British weather, but I can't remember a Christmas holiday without snow.

I look up at a street sign even though I know where I am. It gives me something to think about. My parents are getting worse. They're in their forties now; Dad will be fifty next summer. The nurses won't tell me anything, or at least they wouldn't the last time I went to visit my parents.

I wait for the cars to stop before I cross the street. I have to go through a muggle district to get to the hospital.

I finally get into the wizarding district. I like to come in the front doors instead of taking one of the random hidden entrances. As I pass by a phone booth, I hear someone mention "Super Man" and then they disappear into the hospital through a hidden entrance. Looking ahead, I finally pause outside the building. I stare off a bit and then hear a voice.

"What are you staring at?"

I jump and look over my shoulder and freeze.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Pansy murmurs at my expression.

"No, it's okay," I reply. I don't know what she would be doing here, but here she is. I haven't talked to her in a very long time. Even though we have classes together, we avoid each other.

"How are you?" she forces a polite question.

"Okay," I answer. I'm not sure what to think. I've come to see my Mum and Dad and here is Pansy standing outside St. Muglo's. "You?" I know it's forced, but I don't want to turn her away.

"I've been better," she hooks a strand of her hair behind her hair, speaking wistfully. "What are you doing out here?" She pauses and then looks away. "Sorry, I forgot… How are they?"

I look off at the sidewalk, not caring that we're standing in the middle of it and people are going around us, looking cross. "I don't know." Then I shift my weight, neither of us leaving. "You could come with me, if you want."

I guess I haven't lost my touch of saying stupid things around her without thinking.

She looks up at me. "Really? I mean they're your parents…"

"Why not?" I shrug. "Unless you have to go somewhere."

She looks at me and then shakes her head. "I don't have anywhere to go."

"Interesting," the other customer murmurs, downing another tumbler.

"So you got together soon after?" the bartender inquired after informing the other customer that he couldn't have any more that night.

"Yeah." The blue eyed man nodded. "In January we were back together. We broke up a few other times over stupid things, but when we were twenty-two, I asked her to marry me since we had managed to be together for two years without breaking up."

I'm nervous. I shouldn't be nervous. Everyone has to do this at some point – Well, every man have to at some point. I lean against the sofa, waiting for her. We've been living together for two years now, and it's time. I want to do this, I can do this. I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor in school because of nothing.

She comes out of our room. We're going to a gathering of colleagues from the Ministry, a dressy affair. I look over at her. I have to do this, but not yet. I'll wait until after the party.

She takes one look at me and narrows her brown eyes. "You want to say something."

I try not to give it away and shake my head. "It's nothing."

She shakes her head. "No, it's not. You don't stare off like that unless it's something." She folds her arms.

She's not going to move until I tell her. I know that look and that stance. I run a hand through my hair and then look at her. "Will you marry me?"

She stares and grips the chair behind her to keep from falling. "What?"

I take the ring out of my breast pocket. "I was going to ask you after the party." I walk over to her. "Will you?" I take her hand.

She pulls her hand back and turns away. "Neville, just…don't. No, I…I mean I do but…" She puts a hand around her wrist where the Dark Mark is still tattooed on it. "Just no. Let's stay this way. I like it like this."

I waver slightly and then lower my hand and look away. I don't know what to think. I should have known, but I had to try. "It's okay." I set the ring on the table. "I understand."

We stand in silence for a moment and then I get my coat off the back of the sofa. "We should get going; we don't want to be late."

"So she wouldn't marry you?" The bartender gave a sympathetic smile.

The man nodded. "She didn't want the commitment and she didn't like what marriage meant. Her parents were forced together…I don't blame her really." He stared off for a moment and then his shoulders hunched more and he whimpered slightly.

"Why stick around?" the other customer demanded. "If you're knew you were going to get rejected, why not find someone who wouldn't?"

The brown haired man grew quiet, and then he whispered, "Because I wasn't rejected…It was weird…She just didn't want the commitment. In her eyes, we were in a way married because we were together and faithful. That's all she wanted, and she knew I loved her…"

The bartender nodded. He barely had any customers left except for a few half-breeds skulking in the darkest corners.

The tumbler shook and the man went to set it down, but he couldn't. He leaned on the bar as though it would support him. "You know…she was…" He stopped.

"She was what?" the other customer prodded.

"She was…pregnant," the man answered quietly.

The other customer stiffened for a moment, then looked away at his glass. He needed another firewhiskey.

I'm coming home late. Sometimes I can't get away from work, and sometimes work can't get away from me. This was the case today when a toad wart vine tried to keep a death grip on my arm. Wincing, I try not to think of how much it hurts. I have potions I have to take every so often to make the pain dull and make sure the blood is coming back into my arm.

Walking up to the door of our flat, I unlock it and enter our flat. It's better than our old flat, bigger and with a nicer kitchen area. "I'm home," I call out, not sure if she's inside or not. Hanging up my coat on the coat tree, I step into the main room and frown. The lights aren't on and it looks rather deserted.

I don't want to think the worst, but I do. It's true that we've been living together for eight years, but I can't help thinking that maybe she's left me. I don't think I've given her a reason to, but I might have.

I turn on the light and blink, letting my eyes adjust to it. After a moment, I look around, and walk into the kitchen area to gather dinner when I pause. Our bedroom door is open slightly, normally it's closed. Knocking slightly on it, I open it a bit more and look into it.

Pansy is sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up, something on the bed at her side. I'm not sure if I should say anything, but I offer a small, "Hey."

She jumps slightly and looks up at me, before looking away. "Hey."

I open the door and then hesitate. "Can I come in?"

"Do whatever you want," her voice is somewhat dark and worried. I wait a bit more and then I walk into our room, sitting on the end of the bed, just in case she wants her space. I can never tell what she wants me to do when she says that.

"What's – " Before I can finish my question, she tosses the thing at my side into my hands.

I look down at it and then stare. "This is – "

She nods, whispering, "I found out this afternoon. What are we going to do?"

I stare numbly down at it. I don't know. I never really prepared myself for this. It's so sudden and we tried not to.

"Have it?" I look over at her. She meets my eyes and then hugs me.

"You seem the type to have a family," the other customer remarked.

"Yeah/ That's what people told me," the sorrowed man murmured.

"Is that how she died?" the other customer asked. "Did she die because of the baby?"

The three grew silent. The brown haired man ran a finger along the indent of the tumbler before closing his eyes. "Yes, that's how she died. This afternoon at two fifteen in the morning."

If I was a smoker, I'm sure that I would be on my tenth pack by now. I can't sit and pacing is beginning to get to me.

Looking around the lobby, I see other such fathers, one is chain smoking. I almost want to ask to borrow a fag, but I've never smoked before and I think I'd rather not make a fool of myself.

"You look like you're going to die," the man murmurs, looking at me.

"I'm just nervous." I run a hand through my hair.

"First child?"

"Yeah."

He studies me. "You should be in there with your wife." He gestures to the door with his fag.

"She's…erm…" I pause and then look away. "We're not married."

"Oh, you're both one of those couples, the cowardly ones," he murmurs, nodding to himself.

"Shouldn't you be in there?" I look to him.

"It's my first grandchild, only the husband can go in there with them, you know."

"I know," I groan and flop down into the seat beside him.

"Fag?" He shakes the carton.

I shake my head. "No thanks."

"Good, you don't want to get hooked on these," he commented, lighting another. "Is she pretty?"

"Yeah," I answer. No one really agrees with me, they're always quick to point out her nose and the fact that she isn't thin, but to me, she's very pretty.

"Do you know if you're having a girl or a boy?"

"No, we didn't ask."

"You know you can check with a simple spell," he remarks. "My daughter-in-law is having a boy. They're going to name him after me."

"Really?" I look over at him, expecting a satisfied smile or something equally proud. He seems sad. I frown.

"Yeah," he replies, a sad look in his eyes as though he wants to say more but it's too personal.

I look away.

"What do you want then? A girl or a boy?"

"I don't know." I play with my fingers, intertwining them then parting them and repeating the motions.

"You always want a girl," he replies thoughtfully, "or at least to have one." He looks over at me. "I always wanted one, and now I have three daughters in laws. It's almost as good, but I didn't get to watch them grow up."

I don't know what to say to this. I don't know what to think about this old man saying such strange things in this waiting room.

"Mr. Locklear?" a medi witch appears at in the door way, calling out to us.

The old man snuffs out his fag. "I'll be seeing you. Good luck."

I nod. "Thanks. Good luck to you too."

Then he leaves and it's only me in the room. I go back to pacing. I fidget with my hands and wish someone was in the room with me or I could go see how Pansy is doing. No one is with her in there except for the medi witches and the doctors.

"Mr. Longbottom?"

I freeze and then look over at the medi witch in the doorway. She bites her lip and then motions with her hand. "Come here."

I walk over to her, a bit perplexed. "Yeah?"

She leads me down a hallway and then into an examining room, closing the door behind her. "Sit down," she motions to the chairs.

I pick one and she pulls the other one up so that she can face me. "I have…I have bad news," she speaks quietly and forces herself to meet my eyes.

My mouth goes dry and I swallow. "What is it?"

"Your…ah…erm…"

"Girlfriend," I offer a word.

"Yes, your girlfriend," she pauses, "she…"

"What?" I lean forward. "Just say it. What happened with Pansy?"

The medi witch looks away. "She died. She died just a few minutes ago…I'm so sorry." She looks down at her hands.

I stare and then lean back in my chair. My heart hurts and I can't seem to be able to move. I watch her closely. "And the baby?"

She seems to pull herself inward and she speaks even quieter. "She was a still birth. I'm sorry. I'm not good at this kind of thing."

I barely hear her last sentence. I don't know what to think or so or do.

"Hey now." The bartender reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief.

The man accepted it and blew his nose. He promised himself he wouldn't cry. It must be the alcohol crying. "Sorry," he said, stopped up and watery-eyed.

"Nothing wrong with it," the bartender set the handkerchief on the bar just in case the man would need it again.

"When is the funeral?" the other customer asked.

"I don't know yet…Sometime next week…? I haven't had time to make arrangements."

The other customer frowned. "Will it be in the papers?"

"If her obituary runs before the date."

"I'll look for it."

The man nodded and then stood up, his knees shaking, but his eyes didn't seem clouded with alcohol. "I need to go…I have people to call tomorrow…" he looked at his watch, amending, "…today."

"You seem fine enough," the bartender appraised him. "I would take the Knight Bus if I were you."

"I plan to." The man nodded and then offered a very small wave before disappearing into the early morning.

**The End**


End file.
